


The Floater

by AnnEllspethRaven



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stock Market, Anxiety, Bad Humor, Fecal Urgency, Global Finance, Inflammatory Bowel Disease, Investment Portfolio, M/M, Metaphors, Newspapers, Pandemic - Freeform, Septic System
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:08:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23124517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnEllspethRaven/pseuds/AnnEllspethRaven
Summary: A global pandemic, collapsing international finances, Elves, a prompt with a drawing of an outhouse and 8 year old potty humor intersect. In other words, a story for our time. I feel like I ought to apologize and yet that would defeat the purpose of the thing which was to celebrate absurdity (the task was not difficult).
Relationships: Erestor/Glorfindel (Tolkien)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6
Collections: Back to Middle-earth Month 2020: Endings and Beginnings





	The Floater

**Author's Note:**

> B2MEM Bingo card from Erestor's Library; the prompt is: Fecal Urgency

Erestor quietly read his copy of the _Tirion Great Market Journal_ while Glorfindel, nearby but opposite him on a different sofa, scanned the pages of the _Valinorean Times_. Lowering the pages just a little allowed the dark beauty’s blue eyes to peer over the top of the newsprint out of mild concern, for the faint sound of a wet shoe squeaking registered in his sensitive hearing. No real footwear moved; the auditory source was Glorfindel’s habit of using his tongue to suck on his upper lip – a nervous habit indicating his anxiety. And little good ever came of it. Erestor hated to draw attention to the behavior when Glorfindel had made significant progress. 

Glorfindel knew what to do; alone and as a couple they had sought their share of assistance and once the handsome blond became aware of his there were a range of things he might try to calm himself. So the paper raised and…

“Pardon me, I need the necessary.”

“Sure. When you come back I want–”

“NECESSARY!!” Glorfindel ran, bursting out the side door, causing it to slam back on the jamb with a force that shook the room.

“Shit,” Erestor muttered quietly, leaning his head backwards. His husband suffered from a digestive disorder that could cause him to need the toilet nearly all the time, with his misery not being limited to only that. “What the fuck?” Glorfindel had been doing well. Really well. Like, weeks and weeks well. No stomach cramps, no sudden diarrhea. No camping out in this room because of its proximity to the Great Necessity. No nausea and hardly being able to eat. They had worked at it together with lifestyle changes, finding what foods made his symptoms better or worse, seeing the people who helped him and their relationship be as calm as possible, all the things. What the hell had even happened to ruin it for him? 

Erestor did not know but felt certain it had to be in that newspaper. There was a new illness spreading, and that part was not so good. But they were friends of Elrond – who had been explaining this sort of thing for years, and had said what to do from the first moment word of the disease came from beyond the Sea of Rhûn. He had been concerned straightaway by the initial information, but all of them had the horrendous misfortune that three years ago Amdir had been elected to the High Kingship and had immediately disbanded the Council of Valinorean Healers; all the provinces now functioned autonomously as it pertained to their medical care. Their ruler foolishly could not conceive of an illness that could be acquired and spread unwittingly to others for over two weeks before causing that Elf to become sick, and had acted far too late. So now what they had dubbed ‘hrólaiwa’, the ‘east-sick’, had spread amidst too many to contain. But they had conversed about this often and Glorfindel had not seemed particularly upset about the unfortunate development.

Rising, Erestor tossed down the Times and took up what Glorfindel had been reading. “Valinorean Financial Crisis Underway,” the headline claimed. “Arda-wide, Even Obscure Markets Now Unsettled as Experts Fear Plague is Destroying Financial Systems.” Then right below it: “Mithril Futures Falling Despite Historically Stable Role” and “Dwarven Treasuries Silent on Lending.”

 _Sweet Eru_. Erestor heaved a sigh and folded the financial section, locating the same information in the Times and stuffing all of it behind his cushion. While debating his next action, Glorfindel saved him the need to walk to the outhouse by returning, appearing a little pale. “Sorry,” he said. “That was close.”

Erestor nodded sympathetically, his eyes holding a question. He knew that if his mate wished to share, he would, though it was usually alright if he asked tastefully circumspect questions. “You looked really uncomfortable.”

The tall blond nodded. “Uhm,” he began. It always felt awkward, because this completely seemed like too much information of the wrong kind, but it was the part of his body that was unfortunately afflicted and Erestor had repeatedly assured him not to ever believe he had to hide what he endured because eliminatory functions were involved. Or, as he so bluntly put it, ‘I do not love your body only when it is convenient for me.’ Which at first had grossed even him out, but the more he thought about it, the more he felt really cared about as a whole person even if...gross. Whatever. “Uhm...Torpedo with liquid propellant.”

“Oh, Fin. I am sorry. That must have been really painful. Is there anything I can do? What about some mint tea?” Erestor offered.

“That...is a really good idea. And I think I got a little chilled out there. Maybe a blanket.”

“Done and done.”

While Erestor prepared the tea, he could now allow his inner elf-child to take over, and smile a little bit at their sanitized rhetoric. In plain words his husband had meant that he had experienced terrible cramps, been constipated with stool he struggled to pass...but diarrhea lurked right behind it, tormenting him with even more pain until he could expel all of it like a horrible blockage clogging a pipe (which is precisely what it was). Erestor knew one thing, he would never, ever take for granted that his own digestive system suffered from none of these things and just worked like it was supposed to. Sometimes one did not appreciate what one had until one became aware of how much could go wrong. He returned with the beverage, placing it on the low table.

“Where is the newspaper, Erestor?”

“If you mean where is the financial section, it is removed, because I have a strong suspicion that you reading that and worrying about money is why you are unwell for the first time in weeks. I know how incredibly patronizing and arrogant that sounds but I saw what those articles said and I think they are not applicable to our situation and I also know how much you worry about our financial security. It means everything to me that you not be stressed for no reason.”

For many minutes Glorfindel said nothing as he tried very hard to distance his immediate reaction (to be pissed the fuck off) from Erestor’s intentions (caring for his health enough to intervene) from Erestor’s information (a potential set of unknown facts) to have enough time to reflect. “Okay. While I wish you had gone about this in a manner that showed me greater respect, such as addressing directly why you felt the content was...whatever...I recognize your motive. I also know you are clever and have precise arguments for every damn thing and that is why I dislike debating words with you, because sometimes I walk away feeling that I am still right and you proved nothing except that you have a sharper wit. So I will ask the central question. A significant portion of our future is invested in these markets. So is Elrond and Celebrían’s. Finrod and Amarië’s. It is not only about personal comfort but about plans to help others with what we have. Had. So please explain to me why I should not be freaking the fuck out that we just lost everything because King Keep Valinor Great does not know an continent wide illness from an archery target?”

“Dearest Fin. Simple. We do not care for our own investments. We all hired Inglorion.” Erestor smiled.

Glorfindel stared at him. “You want me to believe that just because Gildor minds our accounts that I ought to be baking cupcakes and relaxing in the sunshine?”

Erestor smiled. “No, because cupcakes give you the runs. But...maybe I can explain something. Come with me. Outside. Help me uncover the cesspit. We have not checked it in a while anyway.”

“I am really failing to see what our cesspit has to do with our investments.”

“Bear with me. And Fin, have you ever really talked with Gildor? Have you ever gone into town and sat in his office for his little twice a year meetings in which there is a chance to ask things like ‘why does a firm want any high risk municipal bonds amidst their investments’ or ‘what is the point in targeting growing businesses in Nurn and Harad when there are plenty of them here in Valinor’? Basically, have you ever heard him never shut up?”

“Uhm, I usually weasel out of those because I think they are going to be boring.” Glorfindel blushed.

“I know you do.” Erestor tried, but he had a difficult time budging the lid until his considerably stronger spouse helped, revealing contents that while unattractive really did not smell very much if at all, which surprised Glorfindel.

“Why doesn’t it reek?” the blond queried.

“It is not supposed to. Creatures so tiny we cannot see them are consuming the wastes. Which brings me to my illustration. You see that? Floating on top?” Erestor pointed to a rather unmistakable and sizable fecal contribution.

“That would be my, uh...yeah.”

“Well I want you to note that there is a lot of broken down crap in this system, sinking to the bottom. And then there is your turd. Whole. Glistening. Intact. Riding atop the rest of all of it. Our ridiculously diversified portfolio is like that turd.”

“What?” Glorfindel said helplessly, regarding Erestor as though he had gone completely mad.

“I mean it. What you do not understand is that Gildor thought of everything before he invested our savings. Everything. He stays up late at night thinking of things that can go wrong and then he plays games, testing out his strategies against all kinds of scenarios, this included. He planned for a plague, Fin. We will lose some money, yes. So will all our friends. And then the disease will pass and then we will gain it back and we will be alright. So the next time you start worrying about the Tirion Trade Ticker falling five hundred thousand points or everyone falling sick at the Gondorian Exchange, I want you to remember this turd.” The spidery finger pointed. “There will be enough sorrow pertaining to this as it is; do not fear for us.” Erestor began tugging the lid back over the cesspit.

  
  


“Valar help me, I am married to you,” Glorfindel stated. But then he dissolved into laughter after the lid slid into place because this was...this was one of those things Erestor said and now he was never going to un-hear it. Now he could never take their investments seriously again, and what he would do next time he laid eyes on Gildor Inglorion he really did not know. That it would assuredly involve a large fecal bolus was not really encouraging but that had to wait until later.

“Well, yes, last I checked.” 

“Love, you know that this kind of candor is why we cannot go out in public much?” Glorfindel asked nicely.

“I thought it was because we were supposed to eschew public gatherings on account of the hrólaiwa,” Erestor retorted but he too began laughing. “I have done it! I have finally done it!

“Done what?”

“You,” he bestowed a kiss and tapped Glorfindel’s chest, “laughed about poop.”

Glorfindel wanted to glare at him. So, _so_ badly. But it would not work, because he was still laughing. He did the only thing left to him, sweeping Erestor off his feet and into a hug, muttering, “You are such a little shit.”

Erestor licked his lips, his eyes glistening at what verbal offering had just been given him.

Glorfindel’s eyes widened in horror. “Oh. Oh no. Do not. Please. You are not one. Neither little nor big.”

“Not big?” Erestor pouted. “Then I do not float either?”

“I will do anything if you will agree to avert further discourse of a scatological nature,” Glorfindel offered, desperate. For he knew to what depths this could sink.

“Even agree not to worry?” Erestor stood on his toes, staring his husband down at eye level.

“I HAVE TO GO AGAIN!” Glorfindel dashed away.

This time, Erestor followed him, waiting outside the door until the worst of the noises were over.

“Fin?”

“WHAT.”

“Just checking it is not too bad or if I could bring more tea out here.”

“Oh. Sorry. Okay.”

“There is still something I want you to remember.”

“Is this going to make finances worse than keeping a floating, glistening turd engraved in my perfect Elven memory?”

“Maybe. I mean, I do not think so? I think it is helpful. Just remember that the market is always something, Fin. It’s a bear market or a bull market and that means it’s either bear shit or bull shit. Either way it’s shit. Perspective, you know? Not to take that stuff too seriously, and leave it to the Gildors of the world that somehow can figure it all out and are honest and we actually know them?”

“Great. Now our portfolio turd is surrounded by an endless floating circle of other turds. Erestor, seriously? I will never even be able to read that section of the newspaper again without visions of shit floating across the page! I thought you were supposed to help me!”

“But Fin,” Erestor smiled, leaning against the door. “I have. I really have. Everything is where it belongs. I love you, baby. I am going inside now, to make you tea and an egg with toast.” Then, “My work here is done,” he added to himself, softly.

Inside, Glorfindel heard the gravel crunched under Erestor’s feet as he moved away. He shook his head and smiled. “I love you too and since I never _actually_ conceded to your demand...wait, no. Not going there, no no no no no no no _abort_. Just, I love you and all your...I love you despite all your...dammit I love you with all your…”

Erestor poured the hot water over the leaves in the mug; the egg was already heating in its little pan. 

From the outhouse came a cry of pure frustration: “SHIIIIIIIIIIIIT!”

“I love that man,” Erestor grinned widely. “I really do.”

  
  
  


**


End file.
